


It's a Pretty Romantic Story...

by RiverOfFandoms



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Happy, Memories, not angsty for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverOfFandoms/pseuds/RiverOfFandoms
Summary: You are asked how you met Sam... this story involves a stolen pen.





	It's a Pretty Romantic Story...

You fit the key into the lock as you step up onto your porch, after admiring a trio of dogs with their owners walking passed. It’s a beautiful, warm day on the edge of the city, the smell of salt in the air. You love the warm days when you can enjoy the warmth of the sun, however you hate it when it beats down on you all day long without a breath of cool air. Fortunately, there was at least a breeze to keep you cool.

You twist the knob and push against the pale door, a short creak resounding as always. You drop your bag by the coat rack and immediately head for the kitchen. You stop short however when you hear voices from within.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to eat the batter, Uncle Sam…”

“But that’s the best part!”

You can’t help but smile at the familiar voices, and quickly push in through to the kitchen. The golden sun streaming through the open windows by the sink, light coloured batter splattered over the kitchen bench, dripping off the side of the bowls used, and smeared over Sam’s face.

“Well…” You hide your smile, “what a mess we’ve made here.”

Sam looks over at you just as the edge of the spoon coated in batter touches his lips, and he smiles as he finds your eyes, “Y/N, your home!”

You shake your head, “How on  _Earth_  did you manage to paint my kitchen with cake batter?”

Sam’s smile grows wider and his brown eyes grow full with excitement, “Cupcake batter, actually,” he adds, gesturing to the tray in front of him.

Cassie pushes back her hair, “I…” she looks from Sam to you, “I’m really sorry, Aunty…”

You laugh, “Oh, Cass, I know it wasn’t your fault.” You give her a hug in greeting, “Sam’s notorious for creating a mess.”

Sam just wrinkles his nose up at you, continuing to lick what’s left off his spoon.

“Did your Dad just drop you off?” You open up one of the cupboard and pull out a few mugs, lining them up against one another on the bench.

“Yep! Thanks for having me over by the way.”

You smile at her politeness, “Any time, you know that. Besides, whatever Sam and I can do to help your parents with their show is fine by us.”

Sam ditches the spoon and lifts the tray up to fit into the oven, “These cupcakes are going to be the best ones you’ve ever tasted, babe.”

You chuckle, “I’m sure they will be,” you fill up each mug with a spoon of hot chocolate powder.

Sam slides behind you after closing the oven door, and wraps his arms around your waist hugging you from behind, “Missed you today.” He kisses your cheek, and you blush embarrassingly.

“I missed you too,” you quickly give him a kiss on his lips.

Cassie finds her mug after you finishing pouring and stirring in the hot chocolate, and sips at it tentatively as she pulls up a stool at the wooden bench that borders the living room. “Uncle Sam?”

“Yeah, kiddo?” He turns on the warm water and lets the sink fill up as he squeezes a few splashes of dishwashing detergent into forming pool, creating a thick layer of soap suds. You pass him the dirty dishes, giving him another kiss to show your gratefulness for his cleaning up skills.

“How did you meet Aunty Y/N?”

Sam immediately smiles wickedly, “Now  _that_ is an interesting story, Cassie, I’m glad you asked.”

You shake your head and playfully slap his arm, “Sam,” you give him a warning look but he only continues to laugh.

“What?” Cassie urges, leaning her on her elbow, her chin in her hand.

“It’s a really boring story, honestly—

Sam pokes you in the back, “It was  _not_  boring. Go on, Y/N, tell her.”

Cassie smiles immediately, “Yeah, tell me!”

You laugh as you start to dry the dishes that Sam cleans, “Alright, alright. Fine.” You find the dish’s place in the cupboard, “It all began when Sam stole my pen.”

Sam huffs instantly, “I did not  _steal_  your pen, I simply… borrowed it.”

You roll your eyes, “He definitely stole it, Cassie, don’t believe a word he says.”

Cassie’s smile grows wider, “Is that why you don’t let anyone borrow your pens? Because of Uncle Sam?”

Sam laughs loudly, “No, Cassie, your Aunt has always been like that. The day we met, in the library, she wouldn’t let me borrow it at first. She had this big frown on her face when I asked her, and immediate distrust in her eyes—

You cut in quickly, “I’m telling the story Sam,” you turn to Cassie as you wipe the next dish dry, “and Sam is right, I’ve always distrusted people with my pens. But I clearly had good reasons too when Sam asked for one.”

_You stare down at your pencil case, and then look back up at the boy. You notice his full brown eyes, and the smirk edging at his smile, you find yourself reaching inside your pencil case before you can tell yourself not to._

_You hand it to him, “Just don’t lose it, okay?”_

_He winks back at you, “Sure thing.”_

_You watch as the tutor, his name still unknown to you, walk off in the other direction towards his student. You bite the inside of your lip, you know you’ve seen him in here before, but only briefly._

_“That’s Samuel Drake.”_

_You turn to your own student, a girl three years below you, her eyes lingering on him as he takes his seat again. “You know him?”_

_The girl blushes, “No, not really, I know his brother, Nate.”_

_“And he actually tutors girls here?” You ask, still doubting his legitimacy._

_She nods, “Yeah, he graduated from the catholic boys’ school down the road two years ago, Nate goes there now.”_

_You sit back in your chair, trying not to glare over at him as he helps a girl from your school study. You don’t know what, but there’s something about him that gets you feeling somewhat riled. He looks up at you, and you embarrassingly turn away from him focusing back on your own student, missing the smirk that traces his lips._

* * *

_Not only were you still up past midnight stressing over the homework you pushed back this far, but also realising that that infuriating boy in the library, Samuel Drake, never gave you your pen back. You knew there was something off about him._

_You scowl and close your notebook, ignoring the looming of tomorrow morning when you would have to tell your teacher that the essay you were supposed to hand in would not be finished. You sigh, suddenly wondering why you ever even decided to tutor in your spare time. Clearly you need every second of it._

_You decide you’ll just have to beg your history teacher for an extension in the morning. You get changed into your pyjamas, wash your face and pack up your things ready for tomorrow. But suddenly, as the quiet murmur of rain starts to get louder, you hear a tap on your window._

_At first you excuse it for being a mere twig or hail stone, but the tap resounds through your dorm room again and this time its louder, making you jump. You turn to the window and see him. Samuel Drake, clinging on for dear life three levels high right outside your room._

_You curse and rush towards the window, quickly prying it open and then fumbling to pull him inside. As he comes through the window you stumble on the loose rug, sending you both backwards. Dripping wet and lying on top of you, he smiles, “Hi!”_

_You shut his mouth with your hand, your eyes wide and intensely disbelieving that he’s here right now, “What on_ Earth  _do you think you’re doing? Climbing the side of the dormitories? Knocking on my window, are you mad!?” You whisper fiercely, knowing that if you raised your voice any louder you would surely wake one of the teachers down the hall._

_He proceeds to tell you, but his voice is muffled by the clamped hand over his mouth. You roll your eyes and loosen your grip, your hand falling to the side._

_“I thought this was Margot’s room…” he looks to you guiltily, but something close to worry in his eyes._

_You shove him off of you and sit up, “I knew it!” Remembering back to his tutoring session in the library._

_He backs off towards the window slightly, but you both still sitting on your floor. “What?”_

_“I knew you were shifty,” you lift a finger at him, “I mean, not only did you steal my pen but you’re also seeing your student?”_

_He looks back at you, confused._

_“So what, you’re using your tutoring sessions to get dates with girls here, is that it?” You shake your head, “That’s so wrong.”_

_Samuel shakes his head and chuckles, his back against your bedroom wall, “I know you.”_

_You frown._

_He fumbles over his jacket pockets until he pulls something out, something shiny. He throws it to you and you catch it, you stare at the pen in your hands; your pen._

_“I’m sorry,” he finds your eyes, “I was in a hurry to leave and I forgot all about your pen.”_

_You scoff, “Yeah, forgot enough about it to shove it in your pocket and take off; you thief.”_

_He only rolls his eyes, however a playful gesture rather than an irritated one, “And about Margot, she’s from my neighbourhood and she got a scholarship here, people like her and me, and my brother, we don’t get these opportunities,” He gestures to your dorm. “And I forgot to give her some money to help her out, like I usually do.”_

_Your frown loosens as you continue to stare over at Samuel, “Oh…”_

_He nods, “Yeah, so I came to sneak it to her tonight because I won’t be able to see her until next week.”_

_“And you got the wrong room.”_

_“I got the wrong room.” He pulls himself up from the floor, and you also stand up, realising only now how tall he is. “She’s on this floor though, right?”_

_You nod, “Yeah,” you move towards your door and open it just a crack, “two doors down from me on this side.”_

_Samuel moves to the door, his hand resting on the handle, he turns back to you, “Thanks…” he turns to go but hesitates, “you know, maybe I didn’t get the wrong room after all.”_

_You raise an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”_

_He smiles, “Well, if I had happened upon someone else, they might have screamed and ran off, telling on me and stuff. Getting the police involved.”_

_You smile, “Guess you’re right, then.”_

_“The name’s Samuel Drake, but I usually just go by Sam.”_

_“Y/N.”_

_He nods, “Can I come back to climb down your side of the building after?”_

_You laugh, shaking your head, “There’s no way I’m allowing that.”_

_“Oh c’mon, I promise I won’t fall, I’ve been climbing buildings since I could walk.”_

_You push him out of your room, “I’ll sneak you out myself, okay?”_

_He smirks, “I think I might be a bad influence on you, Y/N.”_

_You turn to go, but hesitate, “You any good at history? I’ve got a paper due tomorrow morning, and I don’t think I can do it in time.”_

_He smirks, “History is my speciality.”_

_You shake your head, “Other than climbing buildings and sneaking through windows?”_

_He chuckles at your remark. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll help you out.” He starts backing down the hall, “On one condition.”_

_You roll your eyes, “And that is?”_

_He reaches Margot’s door and before he knocks he says, “That I might come back and visit you.”_

_“What?”_

_“And I’ll be entering through the window again, so be prepared!” He knocks quietly on Margot’s door, and just as you go to take a step towards him, hoping to argue and change his mind about coming back, you realise you kind of love the idea of him returning._

“So really, Cassie, the moral of this story is that one: do not let boys borrow your pens, and two: do not let boys in through your window.”

Sam just shakes his head before finishing the last of his hot chocolate, “C’mon, you loved that I stole your pen. And that I came in through your window.”

You stand up from your stool and collect the empty mugs, “You’re terrible, Samuel Drake.” You pop them in the sink, ready to be washed, and the oven beeps as the cupcakes finish baking.

Cassie jumps up from her seat and hurriedly fits her hands into the oven mitts before cautiously taking the cupcakes from the oven, “I think that story is romantic.”

Sam smiles, ruffling her hair gently, “So do I, kiddo, so do I.”

You smile, taking in the smell of freshly baked cupcakes, your niece and your partner, your home and all the good things that came with it all. You laugh, “I guess you’re right,” you kiss them both on their cheeks, “it is a pretty romantic story.”


End file.
